To Run from Molasses

Vote by January 5, 2014!

molasses75x99In episode 6, readers voted that the voice came from Tony himself.

Episode 7

There Tony stood, in the alley across the street, shadows from neighboring buildings covering his face. Jemma curled her lips into an oval-like grin the minute she saw him.


His arms enveloped her small figure and lifted it into the air; I could’ve sworn, it was like something out of Swan Lake.  

“Hey, you look good,” said Tony, gently putting her down.

I never witnessed this sort of glee, not on Jemma’s part, anyway. She turned back and saw me just standing there in utter shock. I had that look, the rare one, the she-actually-has-some-life-in-her sort of look. As I was motioned over to join them, I began to feel something. I couldn’t quite decipher the reasoning for feeling the way I did, and wasn’t even all that sure what it was, but believe society classifies it as ‘jealously’.  When he lifted her, my eye twitched. As his hands sifted through her hair, I felt my blood boil, (or it could’ve been hunger, either way). Without my knowledge, both my hands balled into fists, my legs were walking full-speed-ahead style and if it wasn’t for the car honk stopping me in mid step, I would have pulverized him, or so I choose to believe I would’ve. I regained my calm and headed across the street.

“Funny gift, Tone,” I blurted in all sorts of volumes, of course, referring to the lottery tickets.

“Keep it down,” he urged.

“No, I mean it was,” and I yelled, “HILARIOUS!”

“I’m serious, man, there are all sorts of nuts on this street.”

“Hey, Tony, what’s he talking about?” Jemma interrupted.

“Nothing,” I answered her.

“Hey, she asked me.” Tony said stepping forward.

I had forgotten how tall he was, yet kept my cool, “Alright, then you tell her what I’m talking about. I mean you might as well.”

“At 2 am? Naw! Let’s wait.”

“I’m serious, Tony.” I said.

“So am I.” He declared.

I couldn’t argue anymore; fed up, I gave in.

Whether we were drunk out of our minds when we made the bet, or as sober as the pope himself, I lost all faith in the agreement as soon as I stepped into Tony’s dingy apartment.

“I’m starved!” Jemma said, opening his refrigerator.

“No, don’t open that! Tony yelled.

“Oh, God!” she immediately closed it upon seeing a tub full of worms.

“What the hell is that?!” she demanded.

“That’s for fishing, I’m gonna go with some buddies upstate to fish this weekend.” Tony said.

“Gimme a beer!” Jemma yelled.

“In the sink, there’s a cooler filled with beer bottles.”

Gimme a beer! I thought of how she was talking, what she was acting like, and it wasn’t Jemma.

“Honey, do you mind if I talk to Tony for a short while in here?” I asked, making way into his bedroom.

Slamming her beer down onto the grimy counter top, she said, “Nope.”

“Good. Tony, a word?”

“Man, how are you living here?” I asked, closing the door as held my nose, “Holy crap, what’s that smell?”

“You really wanna know?” Tony laughed, revealing some gold teeth.


“Okay, you want the cash.” He matter-of-factly said.

“Yes! Yes, I want the cash. I want my freedom back. I want to have sex again.”

“Youse two never had sex?”

“She goes to sleep at seven!”

“Haha, that’s hilarious.” he clapped his hands.


“Alright, it’s out here.” Tony gestured me to leave the room, I heard his footsteps follow behind me until BAM!

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